Except now it has. He’s done his best not to think about Freya’s news about Liv, but he knows he needs to speak to her. What if it is his? Robin’s not sure how he’ll feel, if that’s the case. Co-parenting with Olivia? What a strange thought. And completely terrifying.

Since Robin’s sister and her twin two-year-old boys were killed six years ago, Robin’s dismissed all thoughts of a family of his own. He simply couldn’t bear the idea of losing someone else he loves. But now that it might be forced upon him? He isn’t the sort of man to just walk away.

He goes into his house, downs a pint of water, then heads for the shower. After he’s dressed, he knows what he needs to do and takes out his laptop, sitting at his kitchen table and logging on to the Police National Computer, looking up Olivia Cross. Using the PNC for personal use is definitely not allowed, but it’s related to an old case and he knows he could justify it, if needed. He quickly scribbles down her address, noting it’s in a small village on the outskirts of town. A nicer place to live, he thinks to himself. Better schools.

He goes to log off, then stops. His leg twitches nervously; he taps his middle finger on the desk. The PNC is the database for all police activity, covering the whole of the UK, and without thinking about it further, he types in Finlay Mason. A list of possible matches comes up, and he selects the one with the correct date of birth.

There’s nothing. His address is current, one registered vehicle. No previous convictions. But that’s not a surprise.

He does a search for Josie. No record. Then: Sandra Dean. Nothing.

He knows Devon and Cornwall Constabulary will have their own local system, so if anything happened in 1992, something might be on there. But he’ll need authorisation from a superior officer to access it. Maybe Baker would approve it, but how would he explain the request without potentially getting Finn into more trouble?

Then a memory flashes. Glandular fever. That was it. His dad had said that Finn was ill with glandular fever, and that’s why he was late starting back at school that September. He leans back in the chair. He remembers now; it had seemed strange at the time. He’d ignored his dad’s instructions to stay away and sneaked round the back of the house, hissing Finn’s name. And the face that had appeared at his open window hadn’t looked ill. Pale, thin. But not sick enough to be off school for a month.